


Coming Around

by SophinaBlackwood



Series: Pride and the Prince [3]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 20:03:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13724991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophinaBlackwood/pseuds/SophinaBlackwood
Summary: Tomorrow, Jack fights Mustafa in the first round of the Cruiserweight Championship Tournament, and he can't sleep.





	Coming Around

Jack couldn’t sleep.

The first time he’s back in the Championship picture since god knows when and he can’t bloody sleep. Of _course_ it had to be Mustafa. Someone must have tipped Maverick off. There’s no way Mustafa and he could be matched in the first round otherwise. Not by chance. No way.

 _I’m absolutely delighted by that,_ he had lied through his teeth.

Delighted was a fantastic adjective when you were slowly crumbling on the inside.

Mustafa Ali in the first round.

It was just too painful.

Jack rolled out of bed when the clock struck 3:00am. He got changed into his gym gear and MMA gloves, already feeling a little better with the constricting material around his fists. Forty minutes on the punching bag should sufficiently tire him out to get at least a few hours of crucial sleep before his extremely important match on 205 Live tomorrow.

When Jack arrived, it seemed that he wasn’t the only one with the same idea. The hotel gym was otherwise empty except for one person who was occupying the punching bag, skin luminescent with sweat, dark hair mussed over his obscured face. _Because of course._

Jack took a deep breath. “Mr. Ali.”

Mustafa paused for a moment, acknowledging that he’d heard the voice, but didn’t turn around. Instead he threw another powerful punch at the bag. Then another. And another.

“You’ll tire yourself out before our match tomor--”

“One hundred and fifty-two days,” Mustafa said, emotionlessly.

Jack blinked. “Excuse me?”

Still refusing to face him, Mustafa dragged in a breath and caught the punching bag with both hands to still it. “One hundred and fifty-two. That’s how many days it’s been since you last spoke to me.”

Jack’s heart twisted painfully. Mustafa’s voice, which once used to be full of light when directed at Jack, was now thick and anguished. And Mustafa had truly been a light. The way his brown eyes crinkled sweetly when Jack entered a room. How he always knew the exact right things to say to cheer up Jack when he was blue. Cheeky, erotic whispers that were just for him while the rest of the locker room bickered like children over pointless, faraway inconveniences.

The worst thing a man could ever do was intentionally hurt Mustafa Ali. It had been a long time since Jack Gallagher considered himself a good man. One hundred and fifty-two days, apparently.

“Shouldn’t you be off scheming with Kendrick or getting diner food with the Fitness Friends?” Mustafa broke the silence hatefully. Jack made an involuntary, strangled noise. It wasn’t the words themselves that shocked him but the _tone_. A tone that felt like a low blow.

“I’m not as good a friends with them all as you seem to assume,” Jack answered carefully.

“I’m scandalised,” Mustafa said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You’re one to talk.” Jack didn’t have many legs to stand on, but he was tired and bitter, so he powered on regardless. “It’s not like you try to hide how chummy you are with Cedric.”

Mustafa laughed at that. Laughed like a crazed man. Jack fingered his moustache uncomfortably.

“Do you remember the last thing you said to me?” Mustafa asked. The question sliced through the tense, thick air like a sharpened blade.

“Yes,” Jack said, voice breaking ever so slightly.

_Mr. Ali, if you’d kindly remove yourself from my person._

“Do you remember what I said after that?” Mustafa bowed his head with dire hopelessness, swollen knuckles falling limp by his thighs.

_I love you._

“Yes.” Jack’s voice was much quieter now. It was like Mustafa was capturing his pieces with every sentence that came out of his mouth and Jack was running out of anything that wasn’t a pawn.

“I meant it,” Mustafa said, subdued. “You broke my heart, _Mr. Gallagher_.”

_Check._

“You don’t have the decency to look me in the eye while you say that?” Jack retorted, a selfish anger begin to bubble in his stomach.

Mustafa visibly blanched, then threw a hook at the punching bag which sent it swinging like a pendulum. With another flurry of punches, Jack supposed this conversation was now over.

“Mr. Ali, we’re not done,” Jack grit his teeth.

No answer.

Infuriated, Jack strode over to Mustafa, grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “I don’t appreciate your poor manners right now, Mister--” 

The words vanished as soon as Mustafa’s face was illuminated. His beautiful face, broken, twisted with shame, impossible to tell where the sweat ended and the tears begun. Like he’d been crying for hours.

_Checkmate._

“Oh, Moose,” Jack breathed. His fingers tensed on Mustafa’s shoulder, but he could not will himself to pull away his hand.

“How dare you,” Mustafa glared, his body violently shaking with a new wave of fresh tears. “ _How dare you._ ”

Then, somehow, they were hugging. Mustafa must have collapsed in Jack’s arms. Or, maybe Jack pulled him into the hug, he couldn’t be sure. What he was sure of was that it felt so good. Jack just wanted to stay here for a while and not think about anything but how perfectly their bodies locked together like this. When they were together, they were like poetry. Him touching Mustafa, Mustafa’s love and warmth touching him.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, swallowing hard as a betraying sob broke through his voice. For everything, _god_ , he was so sorry.

At that, Mustafa lost it completely. Cradling him, Jack’s fingers thread through Mustafa’s hair, massaging gently. He pressed his forehead into the crook of Mustafa’s neck, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t stop stroking the back of Mustafa’s head, attempting to smooth away the sadness and the pain. Mustafa held on tightly, as if they were caught in stormy waters and if he let go, he’d be dragged down under the surface and be lost to the depths. Not even an umbrella could save him then.

“Why, Jack?” he said weakly, a clumsy, strangled thing.

Jack had no answer for him. No good ones, anyway, and definitely none worthy of Mustafa Ali.

Mustafa had loved him, and Jack, for some daft reason, had denied himself of that love. He chose Kendrick and chaos over Mustafa and light. As he finally, _finally_ admitted to himself that he’d made a mistake on that terrible September day, a cracked sob shook from Jack.

It was Jack who pulled away, wanting to look at Mustafa’s beautiful face, and he inhaled a ragged breath as their warm, soft, wet lips accidentally brushed across each other. Jack froze, blankly staring at Mustafa’s misty, unreadable expression. For a moment they just stared at each other, a profound, nostalgic electricity between them. Mustafa smiled tiredly.

 _Please kiss me,_ Jack pleaded in his mind. If he willed it enough, maybe Mustafa would hear. _Kiss me and we can be together again. I’ll make it up to you somehow. I’ll do anything._

Whether Mustafa heard it or not, he took a deep, purifying breath, then abruptly untangled himself from Jack’s embrace. He held him at arms length, just for a second, before letting go altogether. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Jack may never get to see that secret smile again- the one that had always been just for him.

“ _No_ ,” Jack panicked. Everything was so cold without Mustafa, because Mustafa was so golden and warm. Jack felt suddenly alone, despite having Kendrick, despite having the Fitness Friends. His face twisted with anguish knowing that this was the same cold loneliness Mustafa had no doubt felt when Jack walked away from him.

“ _I’m_ going to Wrestlemania,” Mustafa said, so resolutely that Jack’s ruptured confidence couldn’t disagree.

And as Mustafa wordlessly headed for the exit, Jack was terrifyingly rooted in place, frozen against his own will. He felt confused and sick. Like he might throw up right there. He had to do something. He had to turn around and somehow convince Mustafa to not leave him alone in the darkness.

Against all odds, Jack turned around.

Mustafa was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe... everything is _not_ fine.......


End file.
